Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
In it, I instructed her to make herself at home for the duration of her stay. Everything I owned was at her disposal.
I’m not sure it’s in either of our natures to lose because within twenty minutes, she and Peach Lips, who looked like a mini tiger/lion/big man-eating prehistoric cat, explored every room in the house.
Minus mine because I made sure that door remained locked while the rest were open.
I was also treated to Ephemeral’s reluctant smile every time she came across the Easter eggs I hid for her. Things like litter robots, cat food, cat dishes, beds, toys, climbing towers. Whatever. Peach Lips has needs, and she shouldn’t have to go without just because her owner forced herself and her into my inner sanctum.
Ha. Not that the house is that. It’s five thousand square feet of grey stucco and black roof tiles on the California coast. My backyard boasts the rugged coastline of La Jolla. To me, the rough coast held a strange beauty that no white sand beach could ever hope to. It just made sense to have my head office situated in California. Everyone says New York is the center of the world, but I like the sun. I like palm trees. I like them year-round, thank you very much. New York can keep its Central Park, its Broadway, and all the Brownstones. Not that they’re not great, but I prefer to only visit or do business there.
Basically, if I could get away with living in a cave, I would.
Maybe one day. Just not yet.
The house is just the way I like it. Spartan, unlived in. An empty shell that just keeps appreciating in value. I’m hardly ever there. Sanctuary? Refuge? Home sweet fucking home? Nope.
There’s not a place on this earth that I think of that way.
Still.
When Ephemeral’s face shoots up directly into the camera at the back sliding door, it makes me sit up so fast in my ergonomic office chair that it nearly ejects me out the front end. I catch myself on my desk, where I have multiple laptops, tablets, and phones open. My office door is closed. No one bothers me when it’s that way, so I’ve hidden out in here since early this morning after prepping my house for Ephemeral’s stay.
I could have booked a five-star hotel room not far from the house or my office, but I have a Murphy bed in here, a private shower, and a small walk-in closet. Everything I need is at my disposal here, so why waste money on a hotel just because I can? Old habits die hard, and being rich, while convenient, isn’t something I’ll ever properly get used to.
“Great view,” Ephemeral says, wrinkling her nose and getting so close to the camera that I can see the dusting of freckles across it.
She hides them well under her foundation, but every time I get a glimpse of them, it brings back to mind that photo of her from her high school graduation, where her strawberry blond hair was swept up above her head in a cloudy crown of copper-hued wheat and gold glory. She’d had a bit of sun sometime recently, probably a few days before, and the bridge of her nose, as well as her cheeks, were slightly pink, even through her makeup. Her freckles stood out prominently.
When I did her background check, it confirmed my original guess on her natural hair color.
I don’t have an opinion about such things, but if I did, I’d say that if she ever gets tired of the streaky purple, blue, and black combo and wants to go back to her au naturel, she’ll rock it effortlessly, to the tune of stunning.
One other thing? In her graduation photo, she looked…happy. Sunny, beaming, and like nothing in her life had gone wrong yet. At that point, her mom was still alive.
“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind.”
Her voice snaps my thoughts from the sad path they were traveling down, but I still reach up and rub my chest. Fucking heartburn.
I don’t expel my breath in relief. She’s not leaving. Rather, there’s devilment galore and afoot. It’s written all over her face that she’s come up with some horrible idea to goad me into being there.
There’s nothing she can do that will make me want to spend another minute in her presence. She’s dangerous. For my business, my reputation, my life. My…everything. I don’t like what and how I feel when she’s around. The things I notice. Such as the fact that I suddenly have an opinion on freckles or that I find myself wondering if her cat will like the tree-shaped tower I chose or if it will be too much.
“This place is way too big and lonely. It’s got this incredible view, and I like what you’ve done with the place. How…spacious you’ve kept it. Minimalism is a great aesthetic. Anyway, I thought I’d invite a few people over. Okay, so maybe it would just be like a small block party. Just enough to fill up the pool and the yard and maybe take a chance at getting close to that dangerous-looking water. And the house, too, because there’s all this room. By small, I mean probably on the smaller side of a regular California party. A few thousand people or so…”